


Can't Tell If This Is Love Or a Stomach Disorder

by evol_love



Series: The Ballet 'verse [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 16:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evol_love/pseuds/evol_love
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Montparnasse meets Jehan's roommate, and is also probably definitely way in over his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Tell If This Is Love Or a Stomach Disorder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Milzilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milzilla/gifts).



> Thanks so so much to all the wonderful people who commented on and gave Kudos to the first part of this series. Special huge extra thanks and love to sassyenjy.tumblr.com AKA Milzilla for being a wonderful cheerleader and encouraging me to keep going with this series. You are wonderful.  
> Thanks to Pembroke for her beautiful art and love of this ship. This fic wouldn't exist if not for her art and blog. Thank you thank you thank you.  
> Title is a line from "The Hypnotist's Son" by Emmy the Great.

At 8:30 that morning, he gets a text from an unknown number. He rolls over in bed and scoops his cell off the floor, opening the message to read:

> _Hey, it's Jehan. :) Hope it's okay, but I asked Eponine for your number. Wanna have dinner Friday? My roommate wants to meet you._

Just as Montparnasse begins thinking of a reply, another text pops up.

> _Shit. Is that coming on too strong? I have that problem. You don't have to. I mean, we haven't even had a first date and I'm already trying to make you meet my friends._

Montparnasse quirks a grin.

> relax. i'd love to.

Hell, if he could, he'd be with Jehan right now. Dinner tomorrow can't come soon enough. And he understands that's a ridiculous thought, that he barely knows Jehan and that making out with him in a parked vehicle like horny sixteen-year-olds does _not_ count as a deep emotional connection. Still. What it comes down to is that Montparnasse just does not give one single, solitary fuck. There's an adorable and incredibly attractive guy who's interested in him and wants to have dinner with him. Rationality doesn't really sound like fun.

Jehan texts him a smiley face.

 ----

When he lights up the next morning beside Eponine, she just smiles knowingly, and it's infuriating.

"So, does he put out on a first date? He seemed eager enough when he asked for your number."

"Oh, screw you. I'm a fucking gentleman, how do you know that _I_ don't put out on a first date?"

"Please, 'Parnasse, you're such a slut."

He rolls his eyes but doesn't actually deny it; she'd known him back when he used to crash frat parties every weekend just to get laid. "Whatever. Stop trying to spoil this for me." He can't actually look Eponine in the eye at this point.

"I never, ever thought I'd see the day that the great Montparnasse fell head over heels for a ballet dancer, but the day has come." She is enjoying this way too much. He's going to have to kill her.

"Well, don't ruin anything yet. I haven't even gotten to third base."

Eponine makes a retching noise as he walks away, and he swears she says something about a Victorian courtship, but he lets it go.

> _Hey, do you want me to pick you up for dinner tomorrow, since you don't actually know where I live? I'll come get you around six, I have dance early tomorrow._

> i thought you had ballet tuesday...?

> _And Wednesday, and Thursday, and Friday. Monday's my day off. You can't just go once a week if you want to build up the muscle and flexibility it takes to get good._

> the more you know...

> _:P_

Montparnasse is _not_ nervous about meeting Jehan's roommate. He isn't. That would be ridiculous. He doesn't need or care about anyone's approval. If they don't like him, that's their problem. He doesn't give a fuck either way. He just really doesn't want Jehan to be disappointed. Or, worse, to stop talking to him because his roommate doesn't approve of him.

He doesn't realize how heavily he's been smoking until he's scrabbling for a new cigarette and comes up empty.

"Shit." He'd been lighting one off the end of the last, something he hadn't done since high school.

> is it bad that i'm a little nervous?

The reply is instant:

> _No. Courf's a bit of a handful._

How reassuring.

> _You can't bail on me now! I made pasta!_

> _You like pasta, right?_

> _Please like pasta._

Okay. Montparnasse wants to keep this boy forever.

 ----

Jehan pulls into his driveway just after six, and, yeah. Montparnasse is definitely worried. But Jehan just smiles at him and says, "I hope the leg warmers aren't a deal breaker."

Montparnasse glances down and there they are, still bright and eye-searing. He bites back a groan; best not to offend Jehan before they've ever left Montparnasse's street. "I'm sure I'll cope," he says. He climbs into the car and his heart does some idiotic fluttery thing he's instantly embarrassed by, despite the medical unlikelihood of Jehan being able to notice it. "What, no kiss this time?" he blurts out, because Jehan really brings out the conversationalist in him. He feels like it's not fair to hold the outburst against him, though: last time he was in this car, in this driveway, with this boy, he had Jehan's tongue in his mouth, and he's sort of still stuck on that point.

Jehan's smile softens and he leans in and presses his lips to Montparnasse's. Jehan's still all hot and sweaty from dancing, which should be gross but somehow really, really isn't. Montparnasse leans in eagerly, kissing the corner of his mouth, his temple, all the way down his neck.

"God," Jehan moans with feeling.

"We'd better go," Montparnasse murmurs, lips still glued to Jehan's neck, nipping softly. "It just wouldn't do for me to debauch you right here in this car before we've even had dinner."

Jehan's answering laugh is a little too breathy and hysterical to be normal. "Right." He pulls away and grips the steering wheel, suddenly very focused on the road.

 ----

They pull up to an apartment complex that looks more or less exactly like every apartment complex on campus, and Jehan parks, hopping out and slinging his dance bag over his shoulder. Montparnasse suddenly, irrationally feels like maybe he should have opened the door for him like some sort of shining knight, before quickly squashing that thought in favor of watching Jehan gulp down half a water bottle in one go.

“Thirsty?”

“Dancing is exhausting.”

“Aha.”

Jehan stops dead. “You don’t think dance is hard work?” He turns and faces Montparnasse head on.

Montparnasse backtracks quickly. “No, no, of course it-”

“Try it sometime. You wouldn’t last five minutes.” Jehan resumes walking and opens the front door of one of the buildings, still saying, “So few people truly understand the value of ballet. People think it’s all fluffy and pink and girly, but it isn’t. It’s so much more than that. Sure, it’s pretty to watch, but no one understands all the endurance and dedication and stamina, the strength, the time. Onstage, it’s all light and breezy, but the second you’re offstage you see all the girls pulling off their shoes to make sure they aren’t bleeding and covering their ankles with ice so the sprains don’t swell up. It’s-” Jehan glances back at a rather dumbfounded Montparnasse and stops. “Sorry for ranting. I get a little defensive sometimes, I know.”

“I didn’t mean to open a whole Pandora’s box, sorry.”

Jehan laughs and turns the key in the door. “I just hate when people don’t take me and my passions seriously is all.”

“Hey,” Montparnasse says softly, resting a hand on Jehan’s shoulder. “I never said I don’t take you seriously. Besides,” he can’t resist adding, “Just think of how flexible ballet has made you. Believe me, I’m a big fan.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jehan says, trying to hide his smile by swatting Montparnasse’s hand away. “Courf, we’re home!”

To be fair, he’d been distracted by Jehan’s pretty eyes, and his pretty mouth, and his stupidly cute braid, and even the terrifyingly pink shirt Jehan’s wearing, but Montparnasse had actually forgotten why he was here for a second.

Right. The roommate.

A guy with the kind of poofy, spiky hair he associates with the word 'douchebag’ and a goddamn bowtie comes into the hall. He greets Jehan with a smile and then turns a judgmental eye on Montparnasse. Jehan, of course, doesn’t notice the tension and just says, “Courf, this is Montparnasse.”

“Hi” he tries, extending a hand in greeting.

“Courfeyrac,” the man replies noncommittally. “Jehan, you do realize you’re dating a drug dealer, right?”

Ah. So that’s how this is going to go.

But Jehan just says, “Courf, don’t be an ass, if he’s putting up with me being a ballet dancer, I don’t really care what he smokes. Besides, you’re one to talk, you're friends with Grantaire.”

“Grantaire? You know him?”

“Yeah, he went to high school with us, actually. Him and Enjolras.”

“That blond dick who’s always trying to recruit me for blood drives and pride?”

Courfeyrac actually cracks a smile at that. “That’s the one.”

“So...you all went to high school together and then all came to college together? You guys are literally an episode of Saved By the Bell.”

“Yep. We were all besties.” Jehan looks at Courfeyrac fondly.

“God, don’t tell me you two were high school sweethearts,” Montparnasse deadpans. When no one answers him, he smacks his palm against his forehead. “Oh god, you were. I gotta say, the last thing I expected was to become the third wheel here.”

“No, no! We’re just friends now, have been for years, we only live together because we’re poor college students,” Jehan assures him quickly.

“Well, so long as you two weren’t voted Cutest Couple in your yearbook or something.”

“No, that was Enjolras and Grantaire.” Courfeyrac looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh.

Montparnasse frowns at this. Last time he’d gotten high with Eponine and Grantaire, the guy had gone on and on about some beautiful boy who’d never love him back. “Were they-”

“No. That was the best part. They won without actually even being very good friends. I consider it one of my proudest accomplishments.” Courfeyrac looks pleased with himself. “God knows there were betting pools, though.”

“I’ve got $25 on July,” Jehan adds.

“You guys are so weird,” Montparnasse points out helpfully.

“Dude, if you think a betting pool is weird, you won’t last long around here. I mean, Grantaire’s been ridiculously in love with Enjolras since, like, the day they met, but he has a _shit_ self-esteem, so he won’t do anything about it. And somehow, incredibly, Enjolras has never noticed.” Courfeyrac rolls his eyes for effect. “But anyway. I’m being impolite. What do you do, Montparnasse? Besides, like, cocaine.”

“Courf!” Jehan yelps, smacking Courfeyrac hard up the side of the head like a reproachful mother. “Please, please don’t spoil this for me.”

Montparnasse has a sudden flashback to his conversation with Eponine earlier, and suddenly he can appreciate why Jehan got the wrong idea about their relationship.

“Eh. Little of this, little of that,” he half answers Courfeyrac.

“You know Jehan’s a dancer, right? A really, really gay dancer.”

“Well, I was hoping he was gay, otherwise this is likely to get awkward.”

Courfeyrac is grinning helplessly at him now, and Jehan looks smug.

“Told you you’d love him,” he crows.

“Yeah, yeah. He can stay, you win.”

And then Jehan fixes Courfeyrac with the most intense look Montparnasse has ever seen on him. It shuts Courfeyrac up instantly. If it wasn’t to defend his own honor, Montparnasse might actually be a little afraid.

Courfeyrac throws his hands up in surrender. “I said he's fine, don’t look at me like that.”

Montparnasse knows it’s a victory, and a big one at that, so he relaxes. Jehan does the same.

“You’ve done well. I like him,” Courfeyrac admits.

“Me too,” Jehan says fondly. Montparnasse leans in and impulsively kisses the corner of Jehan’s mouth. He registers a gagging noise from Courfeyrac’s direction and turns to see him fleeing for the kitchen.

“Wow,” says Jehan approvingly. “You actually managed to shut Courf up.”

 

Dinner is delicious, but that’s not the point. The important part is that Jehan twists their feet together under the table and smirks at him until Courfeyrac wails, “Oh god, are you two playing footsie now?” and it all feels so...normal. It’s like he’s known Jehan for years. He feels so comfortable, like he belongs here somehow.

After dinner, they sip glasses of wine in the living room like the pretentious assholes they are. It’s all incredibly surreal to Montparnasse, who’s never had much of what could be considered a “proper relationship”.

And, okay, this isn’t exactly a proper relationship either just yet, but it could be, with time.

“Well, I’ve had enough sexual tension for one evening. I’m going out with Combeferre and Feuilly.” Courfeyrac gets up and is out the door in seconds.

Only after the third party is gone does Montparnasse realize he is sitting on Jehan’s sofa in Jehan’s dorm with jehan tucked _under his arm_ and cuddled up against his side.

“Hi,” he says, because he’s kind of stupid and kind of drunk.

Jehan answers with a kiss.

“I think that went pretty well,” Jehan says. “I mean, considering all of Courf’s shit. i mean, he’s great, and he’s my best friend, but - well, you met him.”

“He’s nice.”

The instant smile he gets in response is a sign he’s passed some sort of test, so he think it’s probably safe to resume the kissing. He bites Jehan’s bottom lip and rolls it between his teeth. The answering shuddery breath he gets from Jehan is as good as any other signal to continue. He settles a hand on Jehan’s hip and the other behind his neck, pulling him in for a better angle.

And then suddenly, he has a lap full of pretty as Jehan maneuvers so he’s straddling Montparnasse on the couch, and oh _god_. He hadn’t anticipated Jehan’s assertiveness, but he’s not exactly complaining either. Jehan grinds down against him, hard, and Montparnasse gasps for breath. He’s probably going to have a heart attack, and it will be the fault of a guy who braids his hair.

He’s so wrapped up in the moment he almost misses the terrified squeak from the doorway. He glances up to see a slightly mortified looking Courfeyrac who says weakly, “I left my coat.”

Jehan collapses against him and laughs against his neck.

“I’ll just go. Um. Have fun.” Courfeyrac grabs his coat and very calmly exits once more.

Yeah. Montparnasse definitely likes Courfeyrac.

 ----

The walk-in had sort of killed the mood, but Jehan lets him stay a while longer and they make-out on the couch, so the night’s certainly not a total bust.

“Come by class Tuesday,” Jehan murmurs between kisses.

“Hmm?”

“Drop in on ballet Tuesday. Come see me.”

“Come see...are you asking me to watch your dance class?”

Jehan pulls away and fixes him with a look. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll, uh, see if I’m free.”

Jehan grins in a way that says ‘you and I both know you have nothing to do and that you’re going to show up.’ It’s a little frightening, how good Jehan is at reading him, and how much he already has power over Montparnasse.

But it might just be worth it.

"Fine. I'll be there."

"Good."

And when Jehan kisses him good night after dropping him off, Montparnasse knows that it is.


End file.
